


Daft Pretty Boy

by Wacko_Azimuth



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Attempt at Humor, Caffeine Addiction, Character Study, Confessions, Friendship, High Intellect Things, Homophobia, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insecurity, Internalized Homophobia, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung-centric, Light Angst, M/M, POV Multiple, Perhaps Crack, Social Awkwardness, Tags May Change, yay!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wacko_Azimuth/pseuds/Wacko_Azimuth
Summary: Ask anyone and they'll tell you Kim Doyoung is either an airhead or a free soul living in his own universe, someone who couldn't possibly care less about what the world says about him, or about anything else for that matter.That was true, to a large degree. You do develop very thick skin, growing up with a father like his.Not that anyone has much negative to say about him, though, despite having what he considers a quite unlikeable personality and a total lack of personal merits.In the end, Doyoung reasoned, it was just one of the perks of being handsome.You can get away with a lot of things......................Or:  Snapshots of the life of one Kim Doyoung.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue: A Portrait of Our Subject as a Young Man

**Author's Note:**

> So... this was not only my first fic but the first story of any type I've written. Ever. 
> 
> The awful Chapter 1 is the litmus test for the committed. If you make it through, there's a story you might be interested in.

It was getting bright outside his window. Again.

He checks the phone he had forgotten in his hand when he zoned out, looking at the window.

The rattan blinds he'd bought a few months ago prolonged the illusion of darkness for a while, but still, at 6:27 AM, the sunlight was getting painfully evident. Doyoung wasn't ready for the sunlight. Not today.

The blinds also had the effect of blocking pretty much any light that might come from outside during the night. Doyoung liked the dark that enveloped him at night that way, when he was abed.

Now, Kim Doyoung wasn't a particularly gloomy or sinister soul, but he enjoyed the darkness. It made him feel safe. Only in the pitch black darkness did he feel like he could have some privacy; somewhat be himself, whatever that meant. 

* * *

It was strange, but at some relatively recent point in time, Doyoung discovered that under his effortless and contradictory facade (yes, _facade_. That was a discovery too) of confident flippancy, stone-faced nonchalance and sometimes widely gesticulating boisterousness there lay the fragility of feeling oneself constantly watched, and judged.

Hence he second guessed himself all the time. 

It took friends a long time to get to grips with Doyoung's personality, and even then they were often caught flat-footed by a gesture or a deadpan remark. (Except for one or two he had had over the years.) Specially when he spoke online. It's hard to convey nuance in text, and Doyoung's whole self and humor thrived on nuance. 

Nuance, nuance... He opens his eyes widely for a second, remembering. He picks up the phone again, checks the WhatsApp group to see if anyone had made any comments to his corrected version of the petition. He had taken the liberty of pretty much rewriting it when the girl who had taken upon herself the task of writing it sent it over and asked for comments. Then he went to sleep. Well, sleep is a manner of speaking. 

Zero. Nada. 

He checks the message info. Sent to 56, read by 7. Well, that makes sense. He sent it at 2:37 that morning and now was 6:33. Some people still keep something resembling a normal sleep schedule these days, it seems. *snort*. 

He feels strange. The petition was awfully written, yes. It'd wouldn't fly anywhere; but still, perhaps it was actually mean to just rewrite it that way and send it over. Perhaps they're pointedly ignoring him because of that? He checks the info again...

On the rare occasions in which he does find it in himself to speak his mind via text, his heart beats fast and he feels the need to constantly check who has actually read his messages, feeling himself ignored if they don't answer fast. _Why don't they say something? Did he make a fool of himself, again?_

_...yeesh, what kind of worry was that? Leave that to anxious Kunhang._

* * *

  
Ask anyone and they'll tell you Kim Doyoung is either an airhead or a free soul living in his own universe, someone who couldn't possibly care less about what the world says about him, or about anything else for that matter. That was true, to a large degree. You do develop very thick skin, growing up with a father like his. 

He certainly believes he's impervious to criticism by now. Back in 10th grade his Spanish teacher told him, quite fondly, "you're the master of speaking bullshit." He remembers it as a compliment. 

Not that anyone has much negative to say about him, though, despite having what he considers a quite unlikeable personality and a total lack of personal merits. Growing up, it seemed the world tried to heap praise upon Doyoung, as if they knew about what he was getting at home and tried to counterbalance it. 

In the end, Doyoung reasoned, it was just one of the perks of being handsome. 

You can get away with many things.

He has come to define himself as "someone you can't get to completely hate." But deep down he thinks they know. No, he's sure they know. 

That people know there's something not quite alright with him. And they feel pity.

He hates that.

* * *

  
From time to time, Doyoung worries about appearing foolish. 

You'd never be able to tell though, seeing him interacting with his group of friends. 

One of the running gags in the group was the skit of Doyoung unashamedly flirting with Johnny. The other boys held their breaths, Kun tut tutting and slowly shaking his head.   
Knowing what Johnny Seo was like, it was a wonder how he rose to the bait every single time, staring like a deer caught in headlights and blushing furiously while opening and closing his mouth, before muttering some variation of "you disgusting gay" and looking away, to general laughter.

Yuta often joined Doyoung, or did it by himself. Hardcore. 

.......................

Yuta Nakamoto. Otaku supreme, Oddball First-class and, oddly enough, considered one of the "cool guys", together with Johnny; so self-assuredly straight he allowed himself to flirt with guys at the drop of a hat, for the hell of it. 

That's the same Yuta Nakamoto who blasts anime OSTs from the Evo X's speakers all the way to college and out, the one who got all ripped and shit because he tried, and succeeded, doing Saitama's exercise routine...

The cool guys, alright... 

* * *

  
Doyoung would say he prefers solitude. Well, not total solitude; he'd call it "being alone together"; leaving him with his privacy, but knowing there's people out there he can count on. 

People don't think the same. 

He finds it tiring, to feel like he must always hang out with the gang; keep up with the group chat, the latest party, weekend barbecue, Friday night out, scientific conference, social service, pet advocacy group ( _the god-damned Polki Squad_ *facepalm*) and everything else his friends seem to always be up to. It was way easier back in school.

He doesn't show it much though; Doyoung is a strange and unpredictable mix of assertiveness and being a pushover. In the end, he's almost always going over to his friends' (mostly Johnny and Yuta's) houses to hang out, to the conferences, etc, etc.

But then there were times like the one a few hours before an exam when he snapped at Kun and Hendery to just, please, let him eat lunch alone.

Doyoung was a slow eater and liked to read on his cellphone at lunchtime. That was his one happy meal of the day, compared to the tense daily family dinners. 

They were wide-eyed for a bit, then stood up and went away, Kun apologizing curtly and Hendery hissing something about how his dad was just like that and that's why they get along so badly.

He wouldn't talk to Doyoung again for the rest of the day. 

Doyoung was somewhat startled, but shrugged it off and blamed it on Hendery being anxious before the exam, as usual. (Running around like Dexter with his head on fire was a fitting comparison for Hendery Wong's university life.)

Ever since, the gang has given him a wide berth if he's sitting at the cafeteria beforehand. 

He can't complain, really.

* * *

  
He has never had issues making friends whenever he chose to go out and get them. 

Or more like _needed_ to meet them, for practical reasons, like being randomly assigned some group work. There's a disarming charm to his dorky posturing that lubricates any and all "superficial relationships," as he calls them.

Also, he smiles. Kim Doyoung can't pull a fake smile consciously to save his life, but, somehow, they come easily when it's involuntary. 

He's not much used to reaching out to people just because he feels like getting to know them, at least since high school. 

Don't get him wrong though. He's not the kind to make acquaintances out of interest or expectations of benefit. Too much of a bother. And if he doesn't like you, you'll know it, sooner or later. If you have any bearing on what he wants to do, that is. Rarely does Doyoung actually bother with the affairs of mere mortals.

* * *

  
Doyoung likes to believe he's pretty inconspicuous; always dressed in basics with cold colors, wide blue jeans and slip ons; his friends don't even notice a difference between one shirt and the next. (Yuta actually asked him once _"wait, do you only wear gray?"_ ). 

He rarely ever hangs out much with the jocks and really popular guys; usually minding his own business, he's not one of the usual voices on the section chat, not even when the inevitable annual spat with some cathedra or other, perhaps even the whole Faculty, begins and then everyone in the section's up in arms for a few weeks. 

_Nothing ever comes out of it._

Somehow though, he always gets noticed by people, as he discovers anew every year with the new professors and classmates when there's some new group assignment or the professor wants to ask questions. Then it turns out that everyone knows who Kim Doyoung is and what to expect of him.

..........................

Well, that's what they'd like to think anyway, as Taeil discovered, much to his chagrin, that one time in 3rd year with the Pathophysiology exposition. Three bored professors, 60-something nervous students plus the two sad devils in front of everyone, the day's tributes, talking at length about myasthenia gravis over some PowerPoint. 

That is, until the Academic Director herself, public enemy #1, as far as the students are concerned, enters the small auditorium and sits at the back, where her three underlings suddenly snap at attention. 

Taeil can feel himself beginning to sweat profusely, his usually slow talking becoming halting. He takes a side glance at Doyoung. 

Doyoung's standing there, having said his part already, hands behind his back, a foot up on the horizontal sidebar of the table with the computer's keyboard ( _the insolent bastard! He's going to ruin this!)_ ; calmly surveying everyone from under his hooded eyes, as usual. 

Taeil finishes. He asks if there are any questions (there aren't any, as expected). He lets out a subdued breath of relief. Nothing from the professors, either. _All good and smooth, Moon Taeil._

Not so fast.

At the sight of the general apathy, the Devil herself, folder in hand, takes the reins and asks "Mr. Moon, what molecular defense reaction is the actual cause of the lymphocytes moving to attack the muscle ACh receptors? And where do these cells come from? _"_

There's an awkward silence for a few seconds.

_Fuuu... Fudge! That's what happens when you try to cover every base; they end up disarming you with some basic ass question._

Taeil's opening his mouth to begin with some dilatory bullshit, hoping enlightenment comes to him along the way, when he hears _"... 's God's will, guiding the white cells on their holy mission to attack the receptors."_

Taeil snaps his head to see Doyoung doing the sign of the cross (with the left hand, by the way; Doyoung's a lefty) and folding his hands in prayer; the room erupting in laughter.

(This was a Catholic university...)

The Devil looked unamused while she jotted something down on her folder.

.................

Somehow, Doyoung only got 0,5 points less than Taeil on the final evaluation.

* * *

  
There's this big aura of aloofness over Kim Doyoung. 

He'd actually look like a huge nerd, what with, ever since grade school, being the guy who always sits as far back as possible, glued to the wall, whipping up and reading something way too serious for his age whenever he gets the chance. 

But it seems being tall, along with the perpetual sneer on his face, courtesy of an inborn crooked mouth, do help confer some dignity upon him. Talk to him for more than 5 minutes, though, and you'll realize he's first and foremost a dork.

....................

That's what Dong Sicheng did on the first day of classes, back in 6th grade, with the lanky new transfer student. 


	2. Hen Derby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's roughly the same age in this story, like, enough to be classmates, so don't freak out if you see Taeil and one of the Dreamies on the same group.  
> \----------------------
> 
> I used to think I knew English.
> 
> Then I tried to write.

Doyoung and the gang are sitting on their usual booth at the coffee shop just out of campus.

He’s in his usual place by the wall, his back to the entrance and the TV screen hanging from the pillar. His friends knew Doyoung insisted on taking that exact place, much as he did in class with "the seat by the wall on the third file from the back", as they've come to know it. 

He dislikes the feeling of involuntarily having to watch either the screen or people entering the shop. He's read somewhere that that's an atavistic feature of the human mind, having to pay attention to anything that moves.

He’ll fight for that place. Kim Doyoung is a creature of habit, as he himself says, or a maniac, as Johnny says.

He's leaning back on the seat, left shoulder resting on the wall; spinning the phone that’s forgotten in his hand, he absent-mindedly alternates between looking at his friends and out the window. They're speaking animatedly, as always, all banter and complaints about what they have to study and small talk Doyoung can't begin to fathom, even if he were actually paying attention.

Occasionally he wakes up when he believes he's heard them say something important, and asks someone what they're talking about; most of the time, he simply raises his eyebrows and says an "ah" of acknowledgement. Then he goes back to his resting position.

His mind is somewhere else.

This was the day after the Cafeteria Affair.

* * *

That past afternoon, Doyoung had a noticeable knot in the pit of his stomach as he walked out of class alone after the exam, hands fisted inside the trench coat’s pockets. He chose to ignore it in favor of the slight but persistent headache he was beginning to feel. Mostly from lack of coffee.

(Caffeine withdrawal is _real_. But orders are orders and the old man said he should control his intake.)

Alone inside the slow elevator, he thinks he can pinpoint the cause of his unease.

Both Kun and Hendery can get quite fidgety and annoying before a test. Specially Hendery _._

Doyoung is well acquainted with indigestion by Hendery.

_They’re dumb if they believe they’re going to solve stuff by reviewing the book at the last possible minute. I_ t _’s better to just take a breather and get your shit together before the test._

(That’s why Doyoung often finishes tests before everyone else, by the way. He won't stay there waiting for divine inspiration.)

_And why the fuck don't they just go and eat in class over their books or whatever is it they wanted to do? Why bother ME!?_

He rolls his eyes and pulls his head back, taking a deep breath.

After a few seconds, he straightens, puffing his cheeks and slowly blowing the air out of his mouth.

Yes, they were just trying to do what friends are supposed to do and keep him company and stuff. Probably because they think he needs it, too (even if their hurrying him up was about to accomplish that most rare of feats, making Kim Doyoung begin to _actually feel anxious._ )

_...Well, no, I guess it was not okay to snap at them like that. I was an asshole. Again._

He should have taken the chance to be a good sport and try to set them more at ease, considering that, if anything, they’re (like most people) often amazed at his devil-may-care attitude towards most things. Specially academic things.

_Like, if you know stuff, you know stuff; if you don’t, meh… There’s always next time._

_Well, no, don’t tell them that. They’re normies. The revelation may be cause for a mental breakdown._

He knew Kun wouldn’t mind today’s scene too much and soon forget about it, or at least make as if he did. Kun was a chill guy like that. Training from being a triplet, perhaps.

_Hendery though_.

* * *

Hendery Wong is about as unpredictable as Doyoung himself.

The boy was bright and striving. He had better grades than Doyoung most of the time; than anyone, really. (Doyoung's not sure if they're worth the amount of stress the boy goes through, though.)

He usually had a sunny disposition, unfortunately often obscured by his tendency to become a ball of nerves and bad temper as he imagined the worst case scenario on just about anything he undertook (usually academic stuff) or worried about remote (read, two weeks from now) deadlines no one else cared about, yet.

When he was like that he tried everyone’s patience, what with the long face, snarky remarks and lame retorts. Mostly directed at Doyoung, who, against sensible Yuta's (strange but true) better judgment and counsel, called him on it and teased him mercilessly.

But Hendery’s a helpful guy, too, mostly as the group’s self-appointed Head Nagger and human calendar. Doyoung has to admit he’d have missed a lot (more) of tests and deadlines without him.

...He also has to admit he’s more than once caught himself discreetly checking Hendery out in the elevators.

* * *

_C’mon, it isn't that big of a deal. Why’s he acting so butthurt?_ Hendery comparing Doyoung to his father caught him unawares. It was not like Hendery Wong to mention anything about his family, unlike, say, Yuta’s dad being Army or Johnny’s pretty much _not being_ (a father, that is); those were common knowledge. But, by the odd thing overheard here and there about Hendery's, Doyoung had managed to form a pretty accurate picture of a rough, ill-tempered man at odds with his son’s temperament.

_Quite a lot like mine, actually._

Doyoung doesn’t get what the hell that has to do with him though, but he can understand the feeling very well.

_Ugh. Not again. Not nooow! It’s not MY fault, dammit…_

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The headache was getting worse now, irradiating to the back of his neck.

It was one of those rare times of the year on which Kim Doyoung really felt like a shitty person.

* * *

Doyoung was actually fairly fond of Hendery Wong.

They’d met a few days before the beginning of 1st year’s second semester on one of Johnny’s famous cookouts; Hendery had come together with Kun and Chenle, along with a bunch of people Doyoung knew mostly just by sight; hell, at the time he barely even knew Johnny, Kun and Yuta, for that matter.

Doyoung had just moved from around the garden's iron swing, where he was making polite conversation with some of last year's classmates, to go and get a drink when _someone_ took a sidestep out of nowhere and he suddenly found himself face to face with the new guy Kun-Le had brought. 

Doyoung looked up, startled.

“Hi. I’m Hendery,” said the boy with a bright smile, a hand extended.

Doyoung really took in the face for the first time. He thought the toothy grin made him resemble a donkey somewhat, but the boy was pretty good-looking nonetheless.

_Wait, did he say…?_ Doyoung frowned slightly, an amused smile on his face.

“'Hen', as in chicken, and then -'dery,' as in 'derby', but without the b, you know. Not ‘Henry’," the boy suddenly added, waving his hands in front in that "don't misunderstand me" kind of way.

Doyoung's frown deepened before he laughed that short, hollow laughter he used in awkward situations. _Is that even a name?_

The boy’s smile died down somewhat, then he quickly added “You know what, screw it. I’m Kunhang. Nice to meet you.” He extended a hand again, and Doyoung shook it after a small pause.

The other boy visibly perked up. Doyoung gave a quiet snort.

He observed the newcomer surreptitiously for the rest of the afternoon.

The boy's behavior could best be described as puppy-like. He was active and talkative, almost loud, and he seemed amused by everything, making friends easily. He certainly fit Chenle as a friend. Kun? _Eh..._

…………………

Doyoung smirks as he remembers the scene.

He sighs, jaw slightly crooked, as the elevator doors open. His eyes widen a bit and he whips his phone from his coat’s pocket as he walks out, remembering he had forgotten to call Dad’s prisoner transport vehicle. 

_I’m gonna have to actually_ apologize _to him tomorrow…_

Fuck Dad. Damned if he wasn’t going to get a big-ass black joe right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. No Sicheng, yet. For now.


	3. One of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And welcome back to the fic with the most erratic update schedule in history (except for the one that was updated 7 years later...)
> 
> Enjoy. Or not. Comment though. Even if just to say "Wacko, you cringy asshole." 
> 
> I'd love that.

So, the coffee shop.

Doyoung's not paying attention to anything, to nobody's surprise. But this time it's different.

He's still quite annoyed about having to apologize when Hendery was the one to overreact. He will, though, if only to avoid making the situation any worse. For the sake of the group.

Kun had been fine that morning. As expected, he said he didn’t mind.

8:26 already, and Hendery was still nowhere to be seen. _The dramatic bitch._

Johnny was the only one to mention, in passing, the oddity of Hendery not being the first one there like every other time.

* * *

They got to class late as usual. Hendery was already sitting on the row he shared with Kun and Chenle.

At the end of class, Hendery got up and out of class fast, mumbling some excuse about having to meet a tutor.

Doyoung saw him go and rolled his eyes. He got up with an exasperated sigh and hurried after him.

He caught up to Hendery on a parterred walkway, already quite far away from the main buildings.

Doyoung reached out and pulled him by the arm.

"Hey, you weren't at the café this morning. You know the café on Friday morning is a national tradition," he said, trying to sound nonchalant and congenial.

"That's not what you came all the way here for," came a curt reply.

"And you don't seem to be going to see any tutor, either," Doyoung replied. "Offices are that way," he said, jerking his thumb; Hendery just stared over his shoulder, unamused.

Doyoung slumped somewhat and sighed. "OK, not really. No, I didn’t come for that," he said. He looked down bashfully for a second, before suddenly snapping (again), face all screwed up, the unfairness of the situation registering again. "But, seriously though, what the fuck, dude. It wasn't that big of a deal. Stop acting like some sorta schoolkid, stalking off and then avoiding me. All of us, really. We've grown up a little bit, you know? We talk about stuff now."

 _Way to apologize, champ._ _He'll fight back now. You just watch._

Unexpectedly, though, Hendery just flinched and shrank back.

Doyoung quickly looked up to the sky, flustered by his throat's sudden constriction; he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before mumbling "Ok, look, I know I..."

"No, it's ok. I get it."

Doyoung leveled a mildly incredulous stare at him.

"I mean, you really _are_ an asshole, though." Doyoung's expression fell again. "But I get it. That sometimes you need your space and all that." 

_Damn, this guy recovers fast._

“Yeah, I..."

"It's ok now, really. At least you thought about it. About how I felt, I mean." Hendery was now sitting on the knee-high concrete parterre.

_Did I now?_

Doyoung had to admit he did.

"I'm sorry. I... I try not to be like that anymore," he said, shoulders slumped.

Hendery looked at him for a second, a fond little smile on his face. "You know, this is the first time I see you actually apologizing for something. We're making progress, Kim Doyoung." He shot him a big grin and a thumbs up. Doyoung liked that. "Apology accepted."

Doyoung couldn't help but smile too. _Johnny and Yuta will never let me hear the end of it if they see this._

It all seemed just like Hendery Wong; quick to get mad, but also incredibly quick to forgive and forget. But then...?

"Hey, what was that thing you said about your father though? I mean, sorry to pry, but it was all about that, wasn’t it?" said Doyoung, frowning. He was sitting beside Hendery by now.

Hendery's smile died down; he looked upset. "Yeah. You reminded me a lot of him then, being like that. I got mad. But then today I… I felt embarrassed this morning,” he said, scratching his arm. “It was all pretty childish really, you know. From both of us."

"I…"

"He does that incredibly often,” he said, looking sideways at Doyoung. “Snap and lash out at anyone and anything. Mostly at me, though." Hendery snorted and paused for a while. He was speaking with visible agitation. " 'cause besides the fact he's an asshole, I- I'm, like, his personal failure or something. The skinny boy who likes to dance and dress up and would rather be anywhere else but here now, studying to become a doctor. He'd rather have a dumb jock like Johnny as a son."

Doyoung understood.

He could sympathize, to a certain degree; but he had long ago stopped giving a fuck about what his father thought about anything. And God did the man have an opinion on everyone's everything.

Oh, and that was unfair to Johnny, BTW. _He’s (somewhat) smarter than he lets out._

"And you don't really want to?" Doyoung said. _Now that was news._ It didn't make much sense, either, given what he saw of Hendery at college. Doyoung would seem the apathetic one about the whole stuff if judged against Hendery Wong. Well, against everyone really. "Why are you here then?"

"He wouldn't have it any other way,” the other said, pursing his lips. “He'd probably literally kill me if I went and tried to become an idol or something like that. He said I had to get some "man's job" or some shit, to at least try and cover up the fact that I'm a freaking fag, among other things. So, I gave up on that a long time ago."

_Ah, so that's it then._ Doyoung clicked his tongue, landing a soft punch on the boy's thigh.

Hendery looked at him sideways, his usual self again. "I get the feeling you aren't surprised in the slightest by that confession," he said, squinting playfully.

Doyoung gave him a quick look, then went back to gazing in the distance.

"Eh... I guess I wasn't expecting it from _you_. But it's not really shocking either. You've been missing a lot of girls' feelers, you know?"

Both of them chuckled under their breath.

Doyoung paused for a while, thinking what to say next. "And how do you feel about that?" _Psychologist much?_

Hendery sighed. "I don't know. Things would certainly be a lot easier if I was... you know, normal, I guess," Hendery shrugged. Then he straightened up, eyes wide. "Uh, sorry about that."

"Forget it. You're one of us now." Doyoung laughed slightly. "Your prize is in the bedroom."

Hendery squinted at him for a second, then laughed nervously when realization hit him. "It must be way easier being you."

Doyoung directed him a look, eyebrows arched.

Then he just snorted.


	4. Interlude: Pin Pricks and Blood (Bonds)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember once reading a quote or some such saying something along the lines of "there's no feature of politics that wasn't first invented in the bosom of a family." It felt fitting here.
> 
> Need to picture an asshole? Think of Lee Sooman's face. 
> 
> I did. 
> 
> The words flowed.
> 
> (And yes, all spacing quirks in this fic are intentional.)
> 
> (...except for the spacing between updates.)

"It must be way easier being you."

* * *

It had taken all of Doyoung's courage to come before the door of his father's study that afternoon. All of his attempts, over the last months, to get on his good side and make requests when the man was in a good mood had been leading up to this.

Doyoung tried to unclench his jaw by moving it side to side and exhaled, wide-eyed, trying to relax.

He knocked on the door.

_"Come in,"_ he heard after a few moments, an imperious voice from the inside. He stepped into the room —it was pleasantly lit, which somehow only served to increase his unease— and just stood in front of the door, rather stiffly, hands clasped behind his back in waiting.

"What is it?" the man said, hunched over the neatly arranged mahogany desk and writing something down on a notebook.

Doyoung cleared his throat. "I want to move out," he said quickly. "Live alone."

"Hmm? All of sudden?" the other said, not looking up. "And what for?"

"I want to try something new, gather some more experience. See the world, as it were." He pursed his lips. "I've been thinking about it for a while, actually, and decided it's for the best," Doyoung added, trying to convey a confidence he didn't possess. 

"I see you've been practicing your spiel," the older man at the desk said, finally looking up with a raised eyebrow. "Feeling all grown up and ready to spread your wings already?"

Doyoung could say he'd never felt more like the proverbial man standing before a jury, but that would be a lie.

He decided he'd do the best out of the situation.

"I think so, yes. Am I not?" Doyoung said, doe-eyed and feigning incomprehension.

"I would hesitate to entrust you with a goldfish, much less your own self to take care of and make the decisions that living alone entails," the man said, dropping his pen in the desk.

The fact that this kind of comment didn't even sting anymore should have probably been worrisome.

"What has gotten into you, eh?" the man suddenly raised his voice. "Sometimes I think you do this kind of things on purpose to annoy me."

He turned around in his chair to look out the window that opened into the courtyard, the pool visible from there. 

"You know, I still remember it like it was yesterday; the time when you were still a child in swimming trunks, playing in that pool with your friends and cousins." 

_Getting sentimental on me, old man? C'mon, we both know you can do better than that._

_But I can't remember the last time I used the pool for anything other than dumping vodka, now that you mention it._

"So this is how it is, then?" the man gave a long-suffering sigh. "One gives his children everything, and then one good day they just up and leave when they believe themselves mature and wise about the ways of the world. Never to return."

"It's not dramatic like that, dammit! I'm jus-" Doyoung yelled, feeling his temper flare up.

"Don't you _dare_ raise your voice like that when you're speaking to me, brat," the man turned around in the blink of an eye and stood from his chair, eyes wide open and a finger up, menacing. "I'm not one of your buddies."

"But what am I even _doing_ to piss you off, huh?" Doyoung asked, trying to calm down. "Coming to ask for, I don't know, basic human rights? Freedom of movement and all that jazz?"

"And why do you need that?" his father said, sitting down, honestly baffled.

"Because I can't even get out of the house to meet with my friends without asking for permission, perhaps?!"

"And that's as it should be," the man said, nodding. "Who knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into when left to your own devices."

Doyoung rolled his eyes inwardly and sighed. " _When_ will I be ready then?"

He noticed his father ignored the question without giving any sign he had ever heard him.

"And so, are you planning on living by yourself on _my_ money?" the man said, steepling his fingers, eyebrows raised in question. "Does that sound reasonable to you?"

"I'm living on your money right now anyways," Doyoung said, giving his father a pointed stare. "Been doing it for 19 years, actually." He shrugged. _A risky gesture._

A tense silence ensued. Over the years Doyoung had learned by force to "respect your Father and don't speak before being spoken to." So he waited, waited...

And waited...

"Let me live alone," he finally said, changing his voice register from the nonchalant, nonthreatening tenor he'd forced so far to the deeper rumble he knows he can manage. "I'm gonna go anyways, whether you like it or not. I can't stand this anymore," he spat, patience finally exhausted.

"Is that so?" the older man said, smiling. "And what if I said I'm not footing the bill, huh? Who's paying for everything then?" He then set himself to parsimoniously arranging the pens besides the notebook, seemingly satisfied with himself. "Your tuition" –he intoned– "for starters. Your clothes. The fancy food you eat. Your outings and little jaunts with friends." He let the pens alone. "What do you say to that?"

"Med school was your idea, anyways. Or Mom's, I can't quite remember," Doyoung said, face screwed with pretend effort at remembering. "I can do without that. And the rest of it, too, honestly."

"Wonderful, wonderful," his father said, faking amiability. "Since you seem to have it all planned, you surely thought of where you're going to live, I presume? Or are you expecting a friend to take you in?"

"Perhaps," Doyoung said. "For starters. Then we'll see, in time."

"And if you aren't studying then you will work at, I don't know," the man gesticulated, "a fast food joint, perhaps?"

"Probably for some time at the beginning, yeah," Doyoung nodded vigorously, pursing his lips. "Everything for freedom." Internally, he shuddered with the cringe.

"And perhaps at some point supplement your income by selling yourself on the streets at night?" A malicious grin spread on the man's face.

Now that was unexpected.

_Agh. Low blow, you bastard._

Perhaps Doyoung's face betrayed a hint of hurt at that last sentence, but at least give him credit for attempting to remain impassive.

The single fact that the man had let the conversation veer this way instead of just giving in probably said a lot about his character.

"Oh, yes," his father said. "I know of your... uh, unfortunate inclinations, boy."

_You know you wanna say it. C'mon, say the word; you can do it._

_Spit it, you asshole!_

But of course, he wouldn't. Always trust Pops to remain prim and proper.

The man at the desk smacked his lips. "You must know that there are still quite a few things in this world that you young people can't hide from us. I know you backwards and forwards. I raised you, after all."

_That's... debatable, to say the least,_ Doyoung thought. _But don't ever tell him that._

"So tell me, would you offer yourself on the streets for money, should the need arise?" Father said, thrown back in his seat, enunciating every word like it was meant to be a pin pricking his son's skin.

Prompted by that, Doyoung finally looked up from his staring match with the floor and focused on his father, eyes feral.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, what did y-"

"Yes, I would," Doyoung hissed, unflinching in his stare. "Gladly."

And then he shot his father his gummy grin in its full splendor.

...

When he recovered from the (probably feigned) shock, a grimace of disgust formed slowly in the older man's face.

Doyoung knew what that meant.

"Your grandfather would have slapped that grin out of your face. As should I, if it weren't for your mother." He let a pen he had been holding all the while fall down on the desk. "So it is, then," he said, rearranging the pens on the desk, again. "You spoiled brat wouldn't last a week."

When Doyoung heard that he knew he had won.

The bratty behavior had, for the first time, ended up wearing down the man who suddenly remembered he couldn't smack the kid in the head like the olden days anymore, simply because he was "like 20 years old already" (by Dad's reckoning).

"Thinking it'll be easy? And when the going gets tough, what, huh?" His father spat. "You've been nothing but a pain in the ass ever since you learned to walk."

_Ah, a crack in the polite mask._

_And, btw, we're even on that count._

Doyoung shrugged, looking sideways. "I don't know. Maybe if that happens I'll just do away with myself. Stop being such a nuisance." He almost smiled.

"That perverted worldview of yours will be the death of me, boy" The man shook his head slowly, eyes firmly on Doyoung. "What do you even value?"

_Believe me, not even I know that_

* * *

Closing the study door, Doyoung celebrated his victory, pumping his fist in the air.

Freedom at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Doyoung engaged in [celebration](https://youtu.be/noEI4TX0gNA?t=13) rituals consisting of pumping his right fist up in the air, pictured here for reference.
> 
> \-------------------------
> 
> Comments and curses are always welcome 😁


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